The dance

There she was. An epitome of a lady that one could only have the blessing to meet, politely greeting everyone on every table, thanking them for attending her night on a cold December eve.

The thought of one having met a woman with just the right amount of wit, quirk, and the warmest of smiles would melt you right there, right on the spot. But all that I could do then was to wish the debutante all the best and celebrate the night with her, with all the others. This was after all, her night. I paid my courtesy, and sat down with my friends.

It felt like it was one of those nights when I wished that I should’ve hid inside my shell and sulked though the night away instead. If only I wasn’t so deluded to take ill advice from someone that I need not mention, things would’ve unfolded more naturally. No, don’t get me wrong, nothing bad happened, it’s just that I gave my trust to someone even more deluded than me. Hah. Am I the only one who’s not enjoying the night?

Just when I was dancing my despairs away, someone approached me.

"Would you care to dance with me?" she asked.

I hesitated. I wasn’t intending to slowdance with anyone, let alone be caught sharing my woes with her. But one look and you could tell that she’s not a little girl anymore. She had troubles too. I surprised myself by saying, “okay”.

She placed both her hands around my shoulders and I placed my palms on her waist. We danced and we talked. She told me all her troubles and I told her all my dreams, like I did in my sleep. We danced again and we talked. We danced and we laughed, and talked about the silliest things.

Personally, it didn’t matter that we danced for hours, and that everyone else stared at us. We closed our eyes and became blind. We just listened to each other.

It was the night where two hours seemed like just a dance.